


Tooth and Claw

by BoredPsychopath_JC



Series: What if Q's cats witness how they finally get together? [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), SPECTRE (2015)
Genre: Bond expresses emotions, Caring Q, Developing Relationship, Feels from last scene of Q in Spectre, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Post-SPECTRE, Q tries to be more rational, Q's cats are cornish rex, Romance, first declaration of love (sort of), they're on catnip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5778967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoredPsychopath_JC/pseuds/BoredPsychopath_JC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q finds himself staying at Q-Branch for no particular reason with his cats on Saturday night. Unlikely it's because Bond just returned from mission and actually reported to the Medical. Situation arises and Bond has an unexpected chance to make his intentions clear with a quote from poetry.</p><p>This is a sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5646832/"><em>To a Cat Owner's Heart</em></a>.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Tooth and Claw

**Author's Note:**

> For my best friend who tolerated my severe fangirling as we watched the 00Q moments during _Spectre_ last November. Hope this stupid fic relieve your toothache xx
> 
> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments I've got for this series! It seems there's more crack than fluff in this one, before Bond took it away from me so it turned out to be more serious. Anyways I had fun writing and making the references. Hope you enjoy this mess :D

Q remains in his own workstation, fiddling with the latest prototype of an exploding tiepin he finished today. From the corner of his eyes he realises it’s 1am sharp. He should start working on something with no relevance to a certain MI6 employee.

Faintly he heard soft typing sound and whispers outside his statuary. The last field agent out there just set foot again on British soil earlier this evening. The nightshift staff are analysing a hard-drive they just obtained. He can well wait for the report from the minions at home. Yes, it was indeed retrieved by the said agent from a careless Spectre-associated nouveau riche in Eastern Europe. No, that Double-Oh agent is definitely not the reason why Q chooses to stay in work on a Saturday night—

 *meow*

— and brought in his cats, which indicates he isn’t going home the next day.

Q sighs and puts away the precious equipment, or what that annoying agent refers as disposable gadget. He rose from the chair to stretch his arms, going through the mission again in his head, especially those bits he didn't put in the report. It was the first assignment after Bond was cleared for fieldwork and Q took over the comms as usual, having recovered from the cold in time. It was just like good old times. Q went into the all-too-familiar banters with Bond seamlessly. It’s just too obvious and slightly alarming that he could often sense sincerity more frequently than flirtations from the other side.

The mission went quite well, with all the objectives achieved at an indirect expense of a few punches landed on that handsome jaw. Q heard it from the comms and watched how Bond put too much efforts to flirt with a bartender that he was punched by her admirer, a hotheaded man who was the favourite bodyguard of the target's lover. Q noticed Bond’s jaw was a bit swollen yet he acted normal. There was only a trace of slurs when the agent spoke, noted only by someone who knew the voice so well. It was a fluke that the target's lover invited Bond over to their residence as an apology. All Q needed to do was to guide him to steal the device and get out of the lavish castle to be picked up by an ally.

 _"007, try not to miss your flight at 1657 because of that enchanting bartender. One could just pray that all your missions to be this clean. Don't ruin it only in the end."_  
_"I can't believe you like seeing me punched. I thought you like my face."_  
_"I too thought you wouldn't lose your gun again."_  
_"It hurts, Q."_  
_"Then you should report to the Medical once you're back."  
_ _"Of course, my dear Quartermaster."_

Q recalls how he was nearly choked by his neglected cold Earl Grey tea. He doesn't know it's more reckless for Bond to invite an assault or just randomly blow up the security at the target’s residence. Then Bond actually agreed to report to the Medical. Q's been wondering if he should upgrade his Smart Blood system so biomarkers of insanity can be traced too.

He starts pacing around as he mentally lists all of Bond’s unusual gestures since he reported back ten days ago on Christmas Eve with certain theatricality. The blond man showed up in one of his damned bespoke suits out of the blue, with excellent presents for the cats before asking their owner to dinner. While Q hates to admit it, the most unforgettable bit of the dinner was when Bond honestly stressed that he was now unattached. Disappointingly, _no, unexpectedly_ , Q wasn't pressed further after that. Then, because of a dizzy fever, the text for Eve arrived mistakenly to a certain mobile inbox, which saw the man with a license to kill fixing nutritious breakfast at 4:40am three days later in his flat after feeding his cats. All these recent memories around Bond vex him, yet he can't help but feel warmed by those caring gestures. _Is some sort of manipulation going on?_ He sits down again with a huff, feeling pathetic as he blushes.

Not far away from the ground, two pairs of feline eyes follow their owner's movements, judging with a bit of… _exasperation and sympathy?_

Q throws his hands up and groans, “N—Nothing. I want no comments from you both.” He regards his pair of Cornish Rex cats, arms akimbo. Wordsworth looks cute in white sweater. It brings out her brown curly fur. _Damn that man and his fashion taste._ He doesn’t want to indulge in how lovely that emerald sweater matches Homer’s eyes and brown-white coat. This _former_ preferred cat of his. This traitor has shown his partiality for the most annoying agent in MI6 over the breadwinner. Two out of two times.

*Mew*

Wordsworth left her spot next to Homer, landing onto Q’s working desk gracefully to snuggle into the still warm laptop. He affectionately watches her poking at the screen with her paws, deliberately ignoring that traitor. That laptop is just a device for him to hack databases whenever he wants to kill time. There's nothing sensitive inside. He even chuckles when Wordsworth actually wakes the device.

_ Oh bugger.  _

He did hack something two hours ago. He guesses he still has time to lift his curious kitty away before she exerts a certain part of her weight on a certain spot on the keyboard...

Which she does with surgical precision. She’s after all the cat of the youngest Quartermaster in MI6 history.

Bond’s medical record appears on the screen. Q utters a soft yelp. He downloaded that document a while ago but he hasn't read it. It wasn't quite a nice idea to be too curious about just one particular agent under his care.

_Sod it. Curiosity only killed the cat._ Absentmindedly stroking the brown cat's chin, Q skimmed the latest entry, relieved- _surely_ he'd feel the same for other agents too- to read that Bond just got a damaged premolar and was clear to go after dental treatment. Just as he predicted.

*meow* *MEEeeeoow*

Q swears he hears delight in Homer's chirr. Looking up, he finds that traitor rubbing his head against a pair of dark jeans appearing at the door. _Shame there’s not much hair to leave on those jeans._ He bit his lips abruptly as he finds a man there in navy blue turtleneck, with the same face as the photo gracing currently on his screen. For seconds, he sat startled, swallowing. That face is even more dashing in real life even with bruised chin. A provoking smirk has formed on that face. 

Q realises he’s been staring for too long. He coughs, swiftly slapping the laptop shut. Wordsworth's right front paw would have been caught without her feline reflex. She snarled loudly a protest, sitting herself on the laptop. She licks the said paw, flashing out her claws at Q in the process, her back facing the intruder in a sulk.

"Please tell me I haven't interrupted something important," Bond grins wolfishly, "Q."

"Ah, 007," Q hopes he finally regains his composure. "What brings you here when you have nothing to return?"

Bond slowly walks towards the work desk, avoiding stepping on that exciting cat at his feet. Meows of welcome continues. Q rolls his eyes, partly in the hope to get the awkwardness away.

But it's a too late when Q discovers where Bond's looking.

“So you’ve grown fond of porridge," Bond dramatically picks up the finished box of Scott's Porage Oats, "Bet you really miss someone who cooks nice porridge."

"Shame they didn’t fix your tooth by simply sealing your lips," Q mutters as he snatches back the box.

Did he just let another cat out of the bag? Q can only hope that Bond has already submitted his mission report, which means a copy has been sent to Q-Branch. _James did go to the Medical as promised so anything improbable can happen too._

Bond raised his eyebrows, realisation sparkling in his eyes. _Uh-oh_.

Q warily watches on as Bond only responds with sliding a thin A3-size box across the desk. He opens it immediately, avoiding those icy blue eyes. He exhales sharply as he reveals the content.

It's a scratching board for cats. The same one as the one back in his flat.

Wordsworth’s been watching their exchange with impartiality, her slender body lazily curled on top of the laptop nearby. The next moment they find her kneading her new toy with rare loud enthusiastic purrs. Even Homer leaves Bond to join her, meowing in excitement. Q knows exactly why his cats are smitten. He can't help grinning at the pair.

Feeling Bond's heated gaze, Q tries to readjust his grin to a small polite smile, "Seriously. With catnip? Why, Bond?"

"Just in case they're as stressed out as my Quartermaster," Bond replies casually but looks genuinely pleased. 

“Well, Bond, I just don't understand why you keep bribing my cats," Q attempts to approach their situation in another way.

"This is an apology before I leave, Q."

Q's smile vanishes at once. Things click in his mind. It seems the room temperature drops to sub-zero. _History repeats itself and I fell prey to manipulation again._  His jaw clenches as anger starts to spread in his chest. His eyes narrows, the cats turning into out-focused patches of colours in front of him.  _So you're telling me you're leaving with that bartender._

"For bringing back just one piece." Alarmed by Q's bubbling fury, Bond adds immediately, "I was hoping to hear you laugh."

Q feels Bond place something gently in his palm. He blinks and looks down to find a black piece of metal along with the radio transmitter. He recognises it's the trigger of the lost gun.

"No one laughs at his own jokes twice," Q bitterly mutters with shaky breaths. His face must have revealed too much. He doesn't know what teasing reply will be convincing enough to change the topic. Bond should be able to pick up his train of thoughts. He hates that his emotions become so unguarded lately around James bloody Bond. _What now?_

The cats seem to sense something too, even in their catnip-drugged state. Homer starts a playful fight with Wordsworth. Q watches distractedly as his messy mind persists in processing with a decent response for the agent who remains so steadfast in his personal space.

Bared feline teeth and flashing claws. Gentle whoosh punctures the uncomfortable silence.

" _Nature, red in tooth and claw_ ," Bond recites and muses. "Q?"

The cats fight on lazily. The rustling melts into the background. Q waited, messaging his eyebrows. This is not something he’s signed up for. Tiredness sweeps over him as anger subdues. He unwillingly concedes defeat in the battle of patience. Glancing up slowly at Bond, he found determination and tenderness in those glacier blue eyes.

“I’m fighting tooth and claw to prove myself to be the man who can make you laugh and keep you happy." Solemnity and emotions weighed in the statement. "I'm sticking around when I'm not needed out there. No hidden agenda this time. I promise.”

"Lord Tennyson," Q tries to recover by stating his thoughts aloud, word by word, “D’you know there're various interpretations to that phrase?"

Under Bond's intense stare, Q keeps pondering on the phrase only, shutting out other thoughts. Bond seems to wait for further elaboration.

"Bond, are you telling me you've become religious?" Q managed a chuckle. It sounds hollow.

"My faith in you hasn't faltered since you gave me that gun and radio at the National Gallery."

The words reaches Q with such honesty and gravity, yet so gently put. Q can't brush it off as a joke. In fact, he was shell-shocked by the situation that he can't come up with something witty.

"I left once," Bond confesses, rare slight nervousness creeps in his voice, "I made mistakes. I took advantages of your feelings."

_So you know._ Q finds his arms automatically crossed on his chest, hugging himself tight. _Go on, agent, show your cards._ He must be glaring.

"Yet you still care. I can't take it for granted. I don't want to. Rather than making it up to you, I want more. I realised you're the only person I can't stay away from." 

Q remains speechless, wondering, as a distraction, how many people have seen such an emotional side from a man trained to kill without remorse. He watches Bond take a deep breath.

"Q, you know my past and you know what I do," Bond murmurs softly with a hint of bitterness. "Somehow irrationally I have unfaltering faith in you that I actually hope this can work. Please give me a chance.”

Q forgets to breath. _Don't get carried away_ , he warns himself as he look at his cats which were now confronting one another.

"As your Quartermaster I'll do anything in my power to ensure you have the time you need," Q replies thoughtfully with his carefully chosen wordings. This is sufficient for now. He hopes Bond can pick up the earnestness.

"Quite right. I shall fight tooth and claw for us," Bond repeats, his expression softens. With an amused smile, he added warmly, "For keeping you safe, first and foremost. You do know you looks so young and harmless with spots on your face."

Q wards off Bond's approaching hand. Now he wishes they're back in his flat.

"My complexion's hardly relevant, remember?" Q jokes lightheartedly. Tension has left him for now.

Bond actually gives him a dazzling and genuine smile. Q can't help smiling back. So they reach some understanding. Q chuckles as he watches Homer launch at Wordsworth nearby. He misses and nearly knocks over Q's mug, which is fortunately saved by Bond.

"See? Your mug won't be safe without me." 

"I do hope it's not the anaesthetics for your tooth talking." Q snorts and shakes his head, still smiling. "Speaking of which, I'll be right back."

Switching on the electric kettle behind him, Q dashes out the door to head to the pantry for his tub of ice cream. It was a thought he had as he passed Tesco on his way back with the cats. More importantly, he needs time to replay what happened just now without any distraction. He must've let the past between them during the whole Spectre incident occupies his mind subconsciously. That's why he flared up, and it results in that spontaneous but sincere declaration. It was a bit silly. He wonders if Bond saw the volume of Tennyson on his kitchen bar table that one time they breakfasted at 5am. He can't help giggling a bit as he inputs the ridiculously long password (reset to keep the content away from curious minions who have sweet tooth) to open the freezer door.

Let time tell. He too needs to deal with his insecurity and uncertainty. He should trust Bond will not rush.

_The inevitability of time_ , yet he recalls his own words with a wince. It’s sheer luck that they've come this far. Perhaps he should just stay more rational to assess the situation before any of them make any promises further. 

Nonetheless, Q enters his workstation again to find his resolution challenged by an annoyingly appealing scene of Bond sprawling relaxedly in his chair next to a steaming mug, with Homer snuggles on that muscular lap enjoying scratches behind his big pointy ears. Close by, Wordsworth pants slightly on top of the scratching pad. It's unbearably domestic. 

He realises he's staring with affection again as he sees Bond's lips curve up smugly. Rushing froward, he shoves the spoon and the tub of Häagen-Dazs Baileys ice cream at Bond's chest.

"For your bloody tooth. This is better than chilled vodka martini." Q slightly growls to conceal his embarrassment as he picks up his mug of tea.

Homer seems to scowl at him for stealing Bond's attention. _You’re not sleeping in the bedroom tomorrow, traitor_. Q gives a grimace.

“I know why it likes me. It’s got lovely green eyes,” Bond remarks as he spoons the first scoop, completely at ease. Q watches his agent humming as the cold soothes the treated tooth. He's slightly disappointed Bond doesn't put on a show of licking and sighing. _What happened when he was away?_

“Just like yours, Q."

Q blushes behind the steaming mug, stilling himself with the lovely fragrance of bergamot and lemon.

“His name’s Homer,” Q clears his throat after a sip of the perfectly made tea, “James, he doesn’t owe you dinner like I do. Name the bloody date before I change my mind.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Since _Skyfall_ , in my ~~crack~~ headcanon everyone in MI6 can quote from Tennyson (because I love that scene with M reading from _Ulysses_ way too much). How can I resist the chance to quote from _In Memoriam A.H.H._ after I wrote Q loves poetry enough to name his cats after poets? 
> 
> A shout-out to Snowyylove again for aiding my creativity with her lovely writing and encouragements. *HUGS*
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hopefully this still makes sense when there're backstories I left out. Please let me know what you think :) Should I continue this series?


End file.
